


For All The Scum In Kirkwall

by KobiashiMaru



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe Where Bioware allows romancing the Best Dwarf, Angst, Canon Divergent, F/M, Gen, Hawke's POV, Hawke/Varric Tethras - Freeform, I'm Sorry, Mage Hawke - Freeform, Mage-Duel Wielding Hawke, Purple Hawke, Sarcasm, Sass, Varric's POV, Warmage Hawke, and a little Kick Ass, but also happy endings, first ao3 post
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KobiashiMaru/pseuds/KobiashiMaru
Summary: The day that Kaitlyn Hawke came to Kirkwall she knew that every event since Lothering had led her to this beautiful haven...Nope. Scratch that. Kirkwall was a dump. No sublime visions of lofty futures danced before her eyes, no signs and wonders led her to believe that this was all meant to be. There might have been a stench, actually. Yes, there was definitely a stench.This is a story of how Kaitlyn Hawke found a home in the stinking, oppressive, hive of scum that is Kirkwall... and maybe something about becoming Champion of Kirkwall, and Mages and Templars.But mostly the scum that is Kirkwall.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 7
Kudos: 1





	For All The Scum In Kirkwall

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written for Ao3 and I've never written FanFiction before... so please forgive me if it's terrible.  
> Also, if you have any corrections or tips, please let me know!
> 
> This is not intended to be a full retelling of a DA2 Playthrough, so please forgive me if I gloss over details or change some scenes. If you're anything like me, you've played the game plenty of times and you don't need me writing word for word the events of the game. Instead I'm focusing on expanding upon the game, filling in gaps, and exploring the life around the story.

Modest Beginnings

“You don’t belong here. So, get back on your ship and go somewhere else.” The guard sneered down his nose as he repeated the sentiments of every other guard we’d spoken to.  
“But we’ve nowhere else to go. I’ve got family here, you see. I’m an Amell.” Mother was saying for the thousandth time, a weary edge coming into her voice. I saw her face fall just a little at the man’s lack of reaction to the lofty Amell name.  
He leaned forward, looking Mother up and down like she were no better than the mud on his boots, “That’s not my problem. If it were up to me I’d bar the gates and let you find somewhere else to beg.” He spit and rubbed it into the ground with his boot.  
Well, it was obvious we weren’t going to be getting anywhere with him and I’d gotten quite sick of his sneering face. I sighed, pushing my hair back out of my face, and stepped forward, “Isn’t there someone in charge we can talk to?”  
The guard, (I like to call him Dick, for obvious reasons), rolled his eyes and with all the empathy of a dead fish replied, “If you’ve legitimate business, then Knight Commander Meredith wants us to sort you lot out, if not then you best get back on your ship and go somewhere else.” He put a bit more force behind the last few words, (like I said, Dick) when we didn’t leave he gave a put-upon sigh, “You want in, talk to Captain Ewald,” and motioned us through the gates into the Gallows. I also heard him mumble something about “refuse” and “walls,” but I refrained from any snide comments…to his face, anyway.  
“Isn’t Knight Commander a Templar rank?” Carver said in a low voice as we made our way into the Central area of the Gallows, “Oh, this sounds like a great place, what with Templars controlling the City Guard.” He looked very pointedly at me as he spoke and his face looked even more dower than usual (if such a thing is possible).  
“Already making plans to get rid of me, brother?” I affected a wounded tone and placed a hand upon my forehead, like to faint.  
Mother groaned and her eyes darted about, “Kaitlyn!” she hissed.  
But Carver just smiled, “Nah, who’d want to take you anyway?” Laughing, I punched him lightly on the shoulder.  
In the center of the gallows, just before a large set of stone stairs which lead to an equally large stone building, another guard, presumably Captain Ewald, was being yelled at by a group of refugees. The angry refugee was armored and armed with two swords strapped to his back, the rest of his company were also well-armed, was saying “Let us in you flaming blighter, we’re not staying in this pit!” To be fair, Angry Refugee was right, it was a pit, the city looked like it had seen better days during the time of the First Blight, and with beggars, refugees, and the soldiers trying to keep us all out, it was also a crowded pit. And then, after we’d had a turn to talk with the Captain, and Angry Refugee thought we were being let in, it became a bloody crowded pit. (I suppose that kind of set the tone for my dealings in Kirkwall, but we’ll get to that later.)  
“Unbelievable,” Captain Ewald wiped the blood from his face, as the guard from the gate, Dick, ran up to check on him. “I’m fine, no thanks to you,” The Captain continued (I kind of liked this guy at that moment.) “Where is everyone? Go find them! I want this kept under control.” He turned to us and thanked us for helping with the idiots, but unfortunately couldn’t get us into the city. He did agree to find Uncle Gamlen, (Yipee!) and bring him to meet us. So we retreated to a relatively uncrowded corner and waited. For three days. Which probably isn’t much when you consider the size of Kirkwall, but when you’re bartering what little you have with people who have as little, if not less, than what you have, time seems to drag a bit. I also convinced a few guards to let me into their game of Wicked Grace with what few coins had managed to survive the trip from Lothering, and by the time Gamlen finally made an appearance, I’d made out pretty well with money for food and a few coins to spare. (I’m actually pretty killer at Wicked Grace, thank you.)  
So, enter Uncle Gamlen, the weasel that he was, to reveal that the Amell Estate had been sold due to debts and No, he could not get us into the city. But all was not lost! He had a plan! (Can you feel my excitement?) It involved selling myself, Carver, and Aveline to a group of Mercenaries for a whole year, but it did in-fact get us into the illustrious Kirkwall.  
And that was the day I knew that every event since Lothering had led me to this haven...  
Nope. Scratch that. Kirkwall was a dump. No sublime visions of lofty futures danced before my eyes, no signs and wonders led me to believe that this was all meant to be. There might have been a stench, actually. Yes, there was definitely a stench.  
This is the story of how Kaitlyn Hawke, (that’s me), found a home in the stinking, oppressive, hive of scum that is Kirkwall... and maybe something about becoming Champion of Kirkwall, and Mages and Templars.  
But mostly the scum that is Kirkwall.

********

That first year in Kirkwall, working with Meeran and the Red Iron, were hectic to say the least. Once he had seen what we were capable of, he kept Aveline, Carver, and I very busy doing jobs he couldn’t entrust to his other mercenaries. He called it “shit insurance,” due to the dangerous effectiveness of our “persuasive methods.” I quite liked that, if I’m honest. I always tried for diplomacy, but if that didn’t work I wasn’t going to stand back and let others do the fighting. My swords, augmented here and there with fire, lightning, and forces spells, not to mention barrier spells, cut an easy rhythm through most of the riffraff we came up against.  
For a while in the beginning, I tried keeping my casting to subtle, less flashy spells to avoid notice, and I’d been taught to defend myself with more conventional weapons from a young age. Father felt that it was important to learn basic skills without magic, “Rely too heavily on one thing, like magic, and it owns you.” He taught me and the twins once they were old enough, to make fire, cook basic meals, forage, hunt small game, and basic swordsmanship. He was the first to admit that he was not a master with a sword, but he gave the building blocks and found others from time to time who were willing to teach us some techniques. Carver took more to heavy, two handed weapons, while I favored the swift dexterity of two short swords. Bethany preferred to stay away from the fray and cast protection and healing spells, though she was taught how to wield a knife. If she’d survived to see Kirkwall… She probably would’ve hated Meeran. (Maker, I miss her.)  
That was the hardest part, I suppose, being in Kirkwall, living a life, of a sort, without Bethany. And knowing how her loss put so much heaviness upon Mother and Carver, feeling responsible and knowing that part of each of them blamed me, too. It helped having Aveline with us. Her presence was a sort of grounding point for me, she was a little serious, and she disapproved of some of my more roguish qualities, but we got on well despite our various differences. It was nice, having someone to talk to that I wasn’t related to. Plus, she was a literal powerhouse of a warrior woman so fights went much smoother with her around. Carver, for his part, did well when he wasn’t in one of his whiny, gloomy, woe-is-me-my-sister’s-unwilling-shadow moods. We actually made quite a name for ourselves within the Red Iron in that year, which served to keep some of the more unseasoned thugs from causing trouble. Not that trouble didn’t have a way of finding us…or me, I suppose.

Working for Meeran wasn't so bad, though being in debt to your employer does make it hard to make ends meet. We picked up odd jobs when we could in between jobs of the Red Iron, but with Kirkwall full to the brim with refugees, work for anyone was scarce. We'd made a bit of a name for ourselves as mercenaries, so it opened a few doors for work here and there. We shared Gamlen's hovel in Lowtown and some nights I could here mother sobbing in the back room, "What're we going to do?" I'd quietly sit next to the bed and take her hand, humming a tune she used to sing when the twins were little. As her breathing slowed and she drifted off to sleep, I'd whisper, "Dad told me to take care of you. I promise, I'll find a way."

It was a difficult period of time, and I do love a good challenge, but to say that I was relieved to be free of indentured servitude would have been an understatement. Aveline was quick to find her place among the City Guard and it certainly suited her well enough, the Kirkwall Guard didn't know what hit them. Carver and I kept up the mercenary work, outside of the Red Iron, and Gamlen continued to be useless. Though, I supposed he was good for one thing. Rumors.

One night, Gamlen stumbled into the Hovel, drunk off his ass and mumbling about "Stupid, stuck-up dwarves" and "death wish." Now, normally I'd ignore the drunken ramblings of my favorite uncle, but this time something piqued my interest. "Who wud wantta goo t' the soddin' deep roads?" he mumbled into his pillow, followed by an impressively disgusting burp.

"What about the Deep Roads, uncle?" I asked, half expecting to get a snore in response.

Gamlen lifted his head, just enough to squint at me, and slurred, "Damn Dwarvess think thers richess n the Deep Roads...look'n f'r a...*hic*" His eyes slid slowly shut as he spoke and he stopped talking abruptly.

"Uncle?" I nudged him with my foot. Gamlen responded with a loud snorting snore. With a sigh, I mumbled, "The Deep Roads, huh?"

What Kirkwall had in store for me, my family, and my friends in the years that followed can be read in Varric's lofty sounding, "The Tale of the Champion," written much better and with much more heroic character than the real thing, so what follows is a more pedestrian approach to sharing things were left out. For various valid reasons.


End file.
